Home

Perhaps it’s a dream,
Perhaps it’s a nightmare.
But home is home
No matter how far you go.
You see,
Where you reside has power
Over your being.
It molds you
Changes every aspect that you have.
Warmth and love
Gives you joy.
Harsh and cold
Makes one distant.

Perhaps an outstretched hand is a sweet caress.
Perhaps an outstretched hand is a cruel blow.
But home is home
No matter how far you go.
It will stay by your side.
Every haunting moment,
Every charming memory.
You can’t escape it,
Even when your grown.
But just know
That you can make a new home.
Make it all your own.
Because that’s the point of home.

Same Old Thing

                The alarm's high pitched ringing wakes me. I stare angrily at the clock. 5:30 a.m. I shower and get ready. Then I'm off. My eyes are still heavy, equations and vocabulary running through my head. My classes drag on. Mental illnesses are a problem that must be addressed. Sine of A multiplied by b, divided by sine of B is equal to angle -- no, side a. The preamble and amendments are drilled into my head. The correct usage of grammar is repeated again and again and again and... again. I get home and eat as quickly as possible. Two hours of work from each of my teachers. I stare blankly at the clock. 1:42 a.m. I stumble into my pajamas.
                The alarm sounds and I start again. "How was your day? What did you do? What did you learn?" My parents ask. My day was exhausting. I repeated my usual routine that I do everyday. I learned that school is the only important thing in my life. My schedule revolves around it completely. I learned that my grades are more important than my well being, my passions, my very existence. I learn that students value high scores more than truly knowledge. And that I have to do whatever it takes to have in A in everything and be above everyone. "The same old thing." I respond.

Tale

He who is the puppet master and we who are the puppets.

But he is a fair master. For he gives us free choice. Before us such wonderful things. But we as foolish actors try to follow the script of others and play a different scene. We then ignore the true story that corresponds us. Oh, woe to those of us that take the wrong path and the wrong fable. oh, how our creator will mourn the loss of our tale. He himself who carved us by hand. Our freedom he has given. Yet we misuse it blindly again and again. Never able to reach our final destination. Our greatest desire, that is so dear. Which is to have flesh and blood. To be as our meister. To be human.

He who is the puppet master and we who are the puppets.

Remember your place. Remember your goal. Remember your tale. Remember your creator.

No More

I laugh too loudly. “No more.” Their scolds and their thrashings take my laughter away. I talk too much. “No more.” Their glares and sharp punishments take my voice away. I play too roughly. “No more.” Their shaming looks and angry lectures take my fun away. I draw too much. “No more.” Their spiels and their disapproval take my art away. I dream too much. “No more.” Their reality and ambitions take away my fantasies. I stick out too much. “No more.” Their intolerance and critique take away my originality. I’m too introverted. I’m too quiet. I’m too demure. I’m too inept. I’m too serious. I’m too common. Why don’t you choose? No more, no more, no more! That’s all you say! Nothing that I do is good enough. Well, no more. No more beatings. No more rebukes. No more limits. Just freedom. No more you. More me.

We Will March On

Their hands were clutched tightly, legs trembling as they marched down the road. The shouts and screams were deafening. Each one crueler than the last.But their flag still waved. The colors flashed in the sun, shimmering with pride. "Love is love!" They shouted, still marching on, heads held high. nobody was going to take that from them. No more hiding. They too were people and deserved to be treated as such.
So they marched on. hands intertwined. Rainbows flying through the air. Demanding to be see, demanding to be freed, demanding to be loved. Each walked with the one they chose for life. Clinging to them with all they had. Daring anyone to come between them. Because they had had enough. It was their turn to no longer be afraid. To be allowed the same rights as the others. Because after all, love is love.

Wilted Flowers

She stares blankly at the wall. This is the third time now. She adds another failure to her long list. Each trial has left a mark. The first left a burn around her neck. The second attempt left jagged scars running across her wrists. And the most recent, was still an open wound. A line that was drawn across her neck. Under the gauze it was still red and angry, disfiguring her further.

Most people think that heaven is a radiant white. But to her, white is hell. White is the colors of the walls, the stiff sheets and mattress, the bandages that covered her, and the God awful gown, Her heaven wasn't this. This colorless world was what drove her to the brink of madness.

She turned so that she could see an old vase. The chipped paint and discolored designs held flowers. Fat roses, that were past their time. Their heads drooped downwards, petals settled beneath them. Their hue now browned. Their leaves were dry and crisp, slowly deteriorating. The flowers were dead, but they were unwillingly kept alive, even for just an instance longer.

Just an instance longer, she thought. That's what she was. A withered rose being uselessly watered and pruned. Either way she would leave. So what was the point of being a wilted flower?

It's like America... But South

Okay where to start.
There are so many places to go
To see!
I mean the possibilities are endless!

Okay calm down girl.
Remember, you aren’t exactly all knowing in this stuff.
I wonder if I’ll get to go to a beach.
That’d be really cool!

Oh! Or I could go to a museum, I like those.
But what about a restaurant?
I gotta eat at some point.
Ugh, there are just so many things to do!
Okay well first of all
I need to get a hotel room sorted out.
Then I can check out the vicinity.
Man it’s a good thing I speak Spanish.
Crap I’m really bad at the lingo though.
Okay, it is okay, you’ll figure it out.
I mean it can’t be that different from home right?
After all it’s just like America… But South.

Spoiled

“You’re so spoiled!” My siblings call at me. The glee that i received, from the three new pairs of sneakers, gone. I thought of the only pair of sneakers i owned. They’re four years old. They’re tattered and have holes. Then i think of their many pairs of shoes. The ones they refuse to wear because they're ugly. “Am I really that spoiled?”

“Spoiled.” They mutter under their breaths. I simply couldn’t win. It seemed i didn’t deserve anything. The lovely new shirt no longer seemed appealing to me. I thought of all the hand-me-downs I owned. This was my first new shirt in a year. But me having it was simply unfair to them. Their overly stuffed drawers and closets weren’t enough for them.

“You’re the favorite. That’s why you’re so spoiled.” I look at the new 20 dollar bill in my hand. I’d earned it. I’d helped my dad and in turn he payed me. I needed school supplies. A new backpack, a pencil, and journals. But i just wasn't deserving of it.

“Do you need anything?” My parents ask. We’re at the store. Everyone has picked out something to buy. I bow my head in shame. “No, i’m okay.” I respond. Am I really that spoiled?

My Dream

Last night I dreamed. Now for most this would be a normal occurrence. But you see, I don't dream. It's a peculiar thing really. It's like a hole is left throughout me. It cannot be filled. In this I am deprived of a right. But I don’t quite mind.

You see, because I cannot dream, I learn to live. Fantasy is long forgotten and instead I gain reality. Other’s lives drift by, wasting away, simply dreaming. But I take what I have. I hold on to what is real and accomplish it.

They don’t realize it yet, but dreaming is what keeps us asleep. Away from what is right in front of you. We’re enraptured by the promise of adventure and magic. The beauty of fictional suffering. This takes life from us.

Now it's a funny thing really. Science has stated that we spend an average of six years dreaming. So in a way, we have two lives at once. In my opinion that sounds exhausting. I don't have to try to make sense of what the world of dreams mean. I simply get to relish in one life.

Of course one life isn't easy to handle. But dreams, as I have just discovered, are much too complicated. What does it mean if I see a duck in a tux? Speaking trees? Purple sky's? I simply don't know. But when I'm awake, I take things as they are. Things make more sense here. You know what's real and what's not. And if you don't dream, you hold no hope for false realities.

Last night I dreamed. I don't think it was one people  would normally have. You see, there were several sets of doors. Each one opened to a different world. But these worlds weren't my own. In fact, I dreamed other's dreams. I have access to my neighbors, my coworkers, and even yours.

Now your dreams are by far the most disturbing I've ever seen. And I know what I said. I know that I said dreams aren't true. But I'm here to warn you. Those nightmares, they aren't dreams. You must tell someone. Before it's too late.

Sleep Deprivation

Underneath my eyes,

Dark circles lie.

They feel bruised.

But I still push on.

The wooden chair is uncomfortable.

The kitchen light burns.

My hand is cramped from writing,

My butt is numb from sitting.

I'm so close to being done.

1:32 a.m.

The clock reads.

If I fall asleep now I'll get exactly 4 hours and 28 minutes of sleep.

But I don't sleep.

The alarm rings.

And I start again.

A Turn of Events

Today has been eventful.

I really didn't think we'd end up here,

In a park

Playing the obnoxious games that teenagers do.

I mean we were at McDonald's just a few hours ago!

We were laughing

And telling stories

About past times.

That is until we got bored.

So off to a mountain we went.

Just to play music

And relish in the presence of friends.

The view was lovely,

The city lights twinkling far off.

The music was loud,

Making my heart beat along.

Then we got sketched out.

There was a car parked idly.

We had been there for an hour

Playing blaring songs.

So off we went to see what was up.

The person within hadn't made a peep.

When we looked, he sat still in the drivers seat,

Now he was either dead or sleeping.

So off we went again.

Except my sister went on the wrong side of the fork

And up we went the trail we went.

Up and up the winding road.

Well once we wrapped our heads around the situation,

We stopped.

There was no way to turn around,

We would have to reverse.

This was no easy feat.

Our friend guided us down,

Getting his foot run over at some point or other.

The path was far too narrow for both a van and a person.

One wrong turn and we'd fall off the cliff.

In fact, that almost just happened!

We were so close to falling into a churning river

Many feet below us.

But we survived.

Indeed a miracle in itself.

So off we went to Walmart,

To buy snacks and drinks to celebrate our survival.

And then off again to the park we're at now.

Drinking soda,

Eating chips,

And living life to its fullest.

Postcard for the weather

Address: The chair across the window
To: Mother Nature
From: A very fed up teenager

You know, I really had hope this time.
But of course I was wrong.
You let the warmth slip into my heart.
Let it sink deep within.

You let the sun kiss my skin
And let the earth grow hot beneath my feet.
You let the breeze cool me from the heat.
Let me think it would once again be bright.

But I suppose the joke is on me?
I was foolish and thought the cold was gone.
I thought winter blues would recede for good.
Let me feel joy.

Much too soon you took it away.
So if you would be so kind as to go back
To the shining of the sun, and for once
Let the spring have a full season.

Postcard Poem

From the 4th floor window above the playground

The snow coats the ground like frosting.
The kids will be thrilled to play in it.
They'll pay no mind to the bitter cold.
They'll throw it, eat it, and build with it.

It's been quite awhile.
I haven't felt that same young joy in so long.
I wish we were like that once more.
I wish you were here.

With love, Michelle

Postcard from the Principal's Office

Hey Mom... Dad,
It seems I've found myself in a predicament
You see, I’m writing this from the office.

Yes, I’m perfectly fine.

That is until you get here.

I’m in a bit of trouble.

Alright maybe a lot.

Sorry.

But wait!

It wasn’t my fault

I swear!

It just all sort of happened.

Please don’t be too mad.

Try to see my side of it.

Again, I’m sorry.

Love, Michelle

Postcard

Postcard from room 224
Savannah!
You wouldn't believe it. It's so different here in room 224. I mean there are so many things to see and hear! There are so many stories. Each perspective different than the last. There's heartbreak, joy, victory, and just.. wow. There are so many creatures. Some are cute and kind (other's not so much). Some have scaly skin, others with 5,000 eyes! An there are so many places to be. Some are real. Others, not so much. Anywho, I wish you were here!
Love, Michelle